


I DON'T HAVE A TITLE - and you don't have a heart, so here we are in a cold cold room with nothing but the moonlight

by Mothwood, Plouton



Series: collect your blessings, hold them in your blood [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Bad Flirting, Comedy, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Suggestive Themes, Trans Ichigo, Trans Male Character, but dont worry he gets better, but not seriously, consideration of necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothwood/pseuds/Mothwood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plouton/pseuds/Plouton
Summary: Grimmjow finds Ichigo Kurosaki's very incredibly dead body.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: collect your blessings, hold them in your blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831036
Comments: 31
Kudos: 256





	I DON'T HAVE A TITLE - and you don't have a heart, so here we are in a cold cold room with nothing but the moonlight

Grimmjow leans heavy over the corpse for a long moment, eyes wide enough that the white rims of sclera can be clearly seen around blue irises. 

His lips are parted, hungry teeth glinting in dim moonlight but the expression on his face is anything but pleased. 

There is no endorphin high of survival, no rush of violent pleasure at his conquest. Just a quiet horror, painted disbelief on tanned features. 

Carefully, as gently as his hands will allow he brushes the messy ginger locks from the boy's forehead, pushing them up and back out of the way - a useless endeavour- before strong fingers sweep across equally orange brows and down around open eyes. Brown and dull. 

In death, Ichigo Kurosaki’s eyes don’t carry that same ferocious spark, the golden fire that mimicked the raging blue of Grimmjow’s own. 

Grimmjow has no heart. He’s as hollow as any of them. There is a six inch diameter hole carved out of his abdomen, taking with it any semblance of something that might be considered love to prove it. But he likes- he liked something about Kurosaki. 

The way he matched him blow for fucking blow - black on silver soulsteel. The way that every time Grimmjow bared his teeth, in a grin or a roar or a snarl, Ichigo saw it and reciprocated. Equal intensity in everything they did with each other, against each other. 

And in the end Grimmjow isn’t even the one who got to sink his teeth into Kurosaki. Some bastard beat him to it, and didn’t even have the fucking decency to eat Kurosaki when it was over - just left the corpse to rot and fester, his spirit to dissipate into the air and sink back into the universe where it came from.

It’s cruel. 

And unfair. 

Grimmjow wants to be pissed. 

He traces a finger across Ichigo’s cheek again, the skin is cold, cooler than even Grimmjow's own. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, and then his elbow gives and his weight drops, shock or something shinigami that wound its way into his body when Aizen touched him now causes him to slump over Ichigo’s body. Ear to sternum and fingers splayed wide over his chest makes the reality set in even heavier. There’s no pulse. The cavity in Ichigo’s rib cage is silent. 

A small shudder runs down Grimmjow’s back and it’s almost instinctive when he pulls his legs up, thighs hooked across Ichigo’s stomach and tucking the back of his calves along Ichigo’s thighs. He’s head fits perfectly in the crook of Ichigo’s neck and the body still smells like Kurosaki. Like the spirit hasn’t been gone for more than a few hours. Like there was a heartbeat here not so long ago. 

Kurosaki Ichigo is dead and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez doesn’t even know where to start believing it. 

His teeth click and he swallows again, glancing up between blue lashes to trace the edge of a jaw, clipped in whitesilver moonlight and shadows, ethereal and the pale gray of nothing nothing nothing at all. The pulse is his throat is still - the carotid that Grimmjow dreamed, salivated, (masturbated) about ripping into. The hot red rush of blood, of vibrancy and resistance. 

Grimmjow’s never wanted anything more than that in his whole fucking death. 

And now it’s gone. 

Humans are… so… fucking fragile. And Grimmjow didn't think he’d miss him at all. 

“Are you... Fondling my tits?” A voice asks. 

An Ichigo voice asks. 

Grimmjow picks his head up so fast something in his neck cracks.

Ichigo jumps, startled by the sudden movement; he's reminded distinctly of a feral cat crouched over something dead and discarded in an alleyway. He clicks his tongue on reflex, sets a hand on his hip- 

"Bad! Put it down."

Then he realises exactly who he said that to, and the fact that Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez has a grip on his fragile weak human body. Fuck. He needs that meat sack. Shit. 

He's also not terribly happy that Grimmjow is definitely able to feel his chest, in that position. His fingers are splayed right over them and not for the first time he wishes hollows would attack when he's wearing his binder so he doesn't have to drop what he's doing while in his pajamas. 

“The-” Grimmjow blinks up at the Shinigami standing on the windowsill over him, “the tits?” Why does Ichigo care about tits when there is a dead dead dead body on his bed. 

It’s definitely Ichigo. It’s definitely dead. He looks back at Ichigo, who is looking very alive, and smells very well if a bit sweaty from whatever thing he was off doing. The corpse smells like there’s stale air in the lungs and like the blood is coagulating. The skin is pale and all the fluid has settled on its backside close to the mattress. Rigor mortis has set in. There is no heartbeat under his palm. 

Then the order catches up to him through his surprise and Grimmjow hates being told what to do. He pinches a nipple with a defiant scowl on his face and then slides his hand around to tuck it under the corpses oedemic shoulder blade and tucks himself closer to it. “No.” It’s mine now.

Ichigo makes a strangled noise and his cheeks flush a bright red, angry and embarrassed. He goes to speak, then snaps his mouth shut. 

Fine. Two can play at that game. Probably. 

He darts forward, feints towards Grimmjow and then drops entirely, sticks his hands into the side of his body and there's the lurch, sickly feeling as he's pulled back in, heavy heavy heavy he starts up, his heart splutters miserably his lungs feel clogged and he's so cold. So cold. Tongue swollen. 

As soon as he's inside he forces his eyes open and his fist comes up, aiming for Grimmjow's sternum and his legs kicking out, squirming. 

"Fucking--it's not empty anymore so fuck off! Put me down!" 

His nipple hurts, a bit. He's going to skewer Grimmjow on Zangetsu. 

Grimmjow watches horrified as the stupid shinigami climbs back into the rotting cadavar and makes a disgusted gagging sound when Ichigo opens his mouth and breaths out corpse cool air that smells mostly of carbon dioxide and aldehyde waste products.

Grimmjow rolls off the reanimated corpse and into the air with a snarled “What the hell you can’t get back in that thing?! Get out!”

"I will fucking not it's my body! Get off my ass, goddamn! Why are you even in my room?!" Ichigo snaps it out, bares his blunt teeth and glares fiercely. He's warming up pretty quickly, with all the movement, pulls himself up onto his knees and flips the arrancar off pointedly. Shoves his shirt down over his stomach again, pulled up in the fuss. 

When he's pretty sure Grimmjow isn't going to grab him again, he starts absently rubbing at his ankles, coaxing blood flow back into them, stiff and sore. Wiggles his toes. His mouth tastes like super bad morning breath and he grabs the glass of water off the bedside table, chugs it quickly, still keeping half an eye on the home intruder. 

"I can't believe you were fucking cradling me, what the hell. Personal space not a thing to you?" 

Grimmjow watches on in appalled horror. “What the fuck? I thought you were dead! But you just leave your corpse lying around when… what, when it’s not convenient for you to be alive?” 

Ichigo fixes him with an incredulous stare. 

"You thought I was really fucking dead and your first response was to fondle me?! Dude what the fuck." He hisses, runs his eyes up and down Grimmjow's body, assessing, judgemental. 

"You have issues." He mutters, shakes his head. Rubs his hands together and cracks his knuckles one by one with a groan of bliss. Swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches them, rubs at his thighs and down his knees. Rolls his feet a bit, sighs when something pops back into place. 

Winding down. Muscles untensing, blood pooling back into his extremities. 

"Can't do shinigami shit in my actual human body. It's not strong enough, the average hollow would curbstomp me. And pushing too much reiatsu through it makes the ligaments snap and muscles rupture. It's not fun."

“Checkin’ for a heartbeat.” Grimmjow replies, hackles rising and he watches Ichigo go through what looks like a very commonly practiced ritual for getting back into a dead body. “That is morbid. Why don’t you have one of those… fake ones?” He doesn’t know what they’re called, he doesn’t quite think they’re bodies, they don’t smell right.

"Your face is morbid." Ichigo mocks, under his breath, pulls a funny little expression in mimicry. 

He flops back down onto the mattress and then arches heavily upwards, (it's probably a bit pornographic and something he shouldn't do with an audience but fuck it, the flexibility pops all the right things back into place) eyes falling shut and an actual moan escaping him as he bends his spine just right, fuck that feels great. He relaxes, sprawled out on his back and honestly quite ready to go to sleep, now. 

"Why would I? I have my own body. It works just fine. Why would I get rid of it? That'd be- weird. I have a plot reserved next to- it's just weird. My real body has to die someday, but until then I'm going to keep using it. Besides, I don't want to be looking seventeen forever."

“Your liver is failing. And also your left kidney.” Grimmjow points out and sits cross legged on the air at eye level with Ichigo. He pointedly ignored the pornographic sound that Ichigo just blessed him with hearing (spank bank material, probably, but not better than the memories of Ichigo ripping him apart with black steel and blacker reiatsu). “I’m pretty sure I died in a ditch.” He doesn’t actually know but it sounds like a relatable sort of thing to have a conversation over. Cemetery plots and mass graves.

"Now who's morbid?" Ichigo huffs, giving the hollow the stink eye. After a moment he sighs and rolls onto his side to face him properly. 

"My body is working fine. I don't have any organ failure symptoms. It just needs some rest with me in it to get all used to being alive again." 

Grimmjow's face scrunches into frustrated confusion and he snaps ,”I know what fucking organ failure smells like, Kurosaki. You don’t sleep that off. Don’t humans have like…. Machines and stuff to fix that?” He doesn’t really care if they do or don’t, he just doesn’t like being told he’s wrong when he knows he isn’t. Humans don't have healing factors. They get sick and die. “If you fucking keel over because of end stage liver disease I’m going to be so fucking pissed at you.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. 

"So, not only did you plaster yourself over me to check for a pulse, you sniffed me? Well, sniff again, kitty cat. My organs are fine."

He motions expectantly at the hollow- he's tired damn it. Grimmjow should either get lost or- or fucking spoon him and make himself useful. Someone else's body heat would probably help. 

Grimmjow snarls at the challenge, “Fuck off, Kurosaki,” but he’s not going to turn down a dare and so he rolls out of his seat and onto his hands and knees to shove his face right against Ichigo’s stomach. He is ruthlessly amused when the brat doesn’t even bother to protect his squishy insides, like he trusts Grimmjow. It’s adorable and pathetic. Grimmjow plants a hand in his gut too to push him down, hand splayed wide and the threat of claws just barely popping through the thin cotton of his shirt. 

Grimmjow sucks the shirt between his teeth and breathes for a second, searching for the acidic scent of dying hepatic cells. He pushes himself back up just as fast. “What the fuck did you do?” The smell is gone. It had definitely been there, Grimmjow was certain. It’s a very distinctive scent of bilirubin and dying stuff and impossible to confuse for anything else.

"Dude my fucking shirt!" Ichigo growls, shoves at Grimmjow's head and peels the now damp fabric off his stomach with a shudder, eyeing the holes his claws left in it. He snaps his gaze to Grimmjow's stunned expression, unimpressed even as he sits up fully and moves past him, rifling through his cupboard for another shirt to pull on. 

"I didn't fucking do anything, that's just what happens. I get back in my body, I warm it up again, it's fine, I'm stiff and cold for a few hours. No big deal." He selects one dark blue shirt and pulls the damp one off, still facing away, changing as quickly as possible before turning and glaring. 

"I want to sleep so unless you're going to be useful and act as a living hot water bottle, shoo. Go fondle someone else's meatsack body. This one is mine."

“You saying dying gives you a stiffy?” Grimmjow says without thinking much, still caught on the fact that the incredibly super dead human shaped Ichigo is apparently fine and recovered. Just like that. He looks at his hand. _How did Ichigo move me so easily_ rolling through his head and it pisses him off. 

He stands up fast (also annoying, sometimes he enjoys being back on four legs; being bipedal is overrated) and stalks over to Ichigo, hauling him up - he weighs less than nothing - and chucking him roughly onto the bed before pouncing at him and pinning him stomach down. He gathers Ichigo’s forearms in one hand behind his back and shoves them between his shoulder blades in a position that might be uncomfortable if Grimmjow cared about that sort of thing. His other hand holds Ichigo’s head down at the base of his neck, fingers flexing slightly. 

Ichigo almost cries out in surprise when he's grabbed, has to bite down on his tongue so he doesn't wake up the whole house- holy shit he really weighs nothing to Grimmjow, huh? Like so much cotton candy. He lands on the bed and before he can scramble to get up he's being forced down into the blankets, arms pulled up uncomfortably, way too much strain for limbs that are still waking up still stiff and not as flexible as they should be. He swallows down a pained noise, turns it into a growl instead, muffled against fabric. 

It doesn't sit well with Grimmjow that Ichigo is so comfortable around him. He shouldn’t receive that kind of trust, and Ichigo shouldn’t be so stupid as to give it to him. 

He sits heavy across the back of Ichigo’s thighs and leans forward to nose the dark shirt up Ichigo’s back, using his teeth when he can’t quite get it, until most of Ichigo’s mid and lower back is exposed. 

He shoves his nose back against Ichigo’s liver, breathing for a moment, then moving to his gallbladder, stomach, spleen, the right kidney, the left, the full length of his intestinal tract. He checks the appendix twice - once because he’s being very meticulous in his search and again because he almost thinks he smells inflammation. His ovaries, uterus - his period will be in three or four days - he checks everything. He doesn’t lean back again until after checking his lungs and heart too. 

It’s stupid. He smells fine, completely normal. He did not smell the same less than 15 minutes ago. 

What the fuck. 

Grimmjow shoves at Ichigo’s arms in punishment for being healthy. “You’re fucking unnatural, Kurosaki.” He releases the wrists but not the neck, not yet. Ichigo still hasn’t learned that he’s not someone to show your back to, especially not over something as stupid as changing a shirt. 

What’s Grimmjow going to see that he hasn’t seen a hundred times before? Extra nipples? Seen that. Stupidly shaped hollow hole? They’re all round and Ichigo’s is boring and skin colored anyway. Not even remotely sexy. Did he have a belly button piercing? … Grimmjow forgot to check. That might have been sexy. 

He’s still kind of too grossed out about how Ichigo is wearing his own meatsuit though to even try to flirt with the dense idiot right now though. Talk about major turn offs. 

He shoves against the back of Ichigo’s neck again and gently and very carefully slides his nails under Ichigo’s skin, he doesn’t want to accidentally rip out something important, this is just for the threat of it all. “Also you’re a shit for brain moron. Don’t show your enemy your back. They might rip it out.”

"It is. Three. Fucking. Am. I feel like I'm entitled to being safe in my own bedroom. Fuck me I guess, no way! That's just not possible. Get off of me you heavy fucking bastard." Ichigo snarls , manages to tuck his head down just enough to free his mouth without tearing more skin under sharp claws. It better not fucking scar. He just wanted to sleep and now he has another shirt with holes in it, this time from sharp teeth. At least they're in the back; the front has an astronaut motif. 

He flexes his fingers, rolls his wrists carefully and slides his arms down, pressing his palms to the bed either side of his shoulders, almost in an at-rest push up position, just to get the blood flowing back through them again, but doesn't lift himself. Too precarious. Grimmjow is a solid threatening presence above him. 

Grimmjow's lips curl back in disgust, “not in your carcass, absolutely not. Fucking disgusting, Kurosaki” Though his view of Ichigo’s ass is nice from here.

"It's a turn of phrase you- not an invitation." Ichigo grumbles, frustrated. "You're cutting off my circulation with your steel bones or whatever makes you weigh about as much as a boulder. Get off of me already, for fucks sake."

“I’m 100% Australian beef,” Grimmjow grins, incredibly proud. He’s not sure what Australian is but sometimes those little human memories filter through and he tends to roll with them. “You’re just tiny. Bet you have a thing for size differences,” he muses aloud and loosens his grip on Ichigo’s neck. “That why you always mention how much bigger I am than you?” 

He’s mostly joking and proves it to himself by getting off Ichigo without groping him or rolling his hips or anything else. It’s easier than usual considering the fact that the mattress still smells like something died on it. 

“Fuckin’ size queen over here,” he sniggers and shoves the window open so he can sit on the sill comfortably. 

Ichigo sits up as soon as he's free to do so, slaps one hand over the back of his neck and huffs in annoyance when he feels blood streaking slowly down. They aren't deep, but they're stinging. 

"It's size king, thanks," he snorts a little to himself, because yeah, he does, but he's not a goddamn idiot who's going to flirt with someone who wants him dead, any past reference to Grimmjow being big is because he's fucking wide intimidating and heavy as all hell.  
"Actually I was calling you a fatass. What fucking hollows have you eaten? Goddamn." 

“Nothin’ smaller ‘an me,” Grimmjow’s rather pleased by that fact. He was a very small and compact adjuchas. Closer to Vasto Lorde shaped than anyone else he met before Aizen. 

Ichigo peels the blankets up and slides underneath them abruptly, laying on his side facing towards Grimmjow, not willing to risk another repeat of what just happened. He presses his head into the pillow and stares balefully at the espada. "Maybe you're the size king, then," he mutters. 

"Are you actually Australian? You don't have an accent."

Grimmjow glares scornfully at him for the suggestion that he’d ever stoop so low as to fuck his prey, but brushes it off. “I don’t know what that is,” Grimmjow shrugs, “I just said it. It’s a human thing, I guess. And you’re definitely queen. Cuz I’m the king and I don’t share my title.” 

It has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with power. Kurosaki better figure that out quick or Grimmjow was gonna prove it to him. He settles himself in against the window frame, one leg hanging free outside and his foot flicking absently in place of his tail. It’s going to be a long night, but Grimmjow’s never needed much sleep.

Ichigo narrows his eyes, and his mouth twists into something unpleasant before abruptly smoothing out into a smug grin, eyes glittering with something close to malevolence. 

"You know, all throughout history, queens have really had a lot of power behind the throne. Really, kings are just figurehead monarchs. So, thanks. That's real sweet of you to acknowledge I'm better than you." 

He really really shouldn't be shit talking Grimmjow when his badge is over on his desk and he's tucked up under his blankets and completely vulnerable but if Grimmjow didn't want to hear him mouth off, he'd fuck off and let him sleep. 

Grimmjow’s attention tunnels in rage and he barely thinks before he throws himself back on top of the brat, teeth bared and a hair raising growl ripping from his lungs. He presses a hand down harshly over Ichigo’s trachea and pins his arms inside his blanket. 

“You wanna fucking say that again?” His grip tightens and his vision tunnels, _how dare he look down on me_ bubbling up his blood in bright effervescent crimsons. 

Ichigo grunts at the impact, air whooshing out of his lungs roughly and he wheezes a bit, kicks his legs slightly before giving up with a condescending roll of his eyes. Squirms a little and then, just to really be a little shit, wants to make Grimmjow uncomfortable, he moans, low and sweet, flutters his eyelashes in the way that accidentally made Orihime walk into a desk when he was play-flirting with Tatsuki one time. The pressure on his throat is good, makes it easier to pitch it high and breathy at the end. 

Grimmjow stares back down at him, but the unexpected response is enough for him to pack away his anger and realize it was probably a joke. Kurosaki has a shitty sense of humor. Grimmjow scowls down at him but releases pressure on his neck, bracketing Ichigo’s head with his hands instead and sliding his legs up and off his arms until he’s straddling Ichigo’s chest. 

Two can play at that game. 

“You like this huh? Pretty sure the only power a queen got from being behind the throne had to do with how well she could suck her king’s cock,” he rolls his hips slowly, highlighting the very small distance, less than a few inches, between Ichigo’s mouth and Grimmjow. He leers down at Ichigo, “You wanna see how big I am, queenie? Wanna see how much power you can get under me?”

Ichigo stalls.

This has backfired terribly. Oh no. 

His breath hitches slightly and his lashes flutter for real, pupils dilating wide and his hands coming up in semi-panic to press at Grimmjow's knees either side of his chest, a dangerous winding line of heat working it's way along his spine. He forces himself to glare, curl his mouth into something mocking. 

"Maybe she fucked him so good he couldn't help but let her do anything she wanted with the kingdom, just to keep her loyal to only him. Sounds pretty likely, kings were so notoriously possessive despite sleeping around all the time themselves. If the king is drunk and balls deep all the time, who runs the country?"

He averts his eyes quickly when his gaze drags down on automatic, nearly lands somewhere he really shouldn't be staring before he catches himself. He can feel his cheeks and ears tinting red, knows it's too much to hope that Grimmjow can't see it in the dull moonlight. His luck isn't good enough for that. 

Grimmjow can smell the moment Ichigo gets aroused for real and he teasingly rolls his hips again, fascinated when Ichigo’s eyes drop from his face to his pants. There’s no tent or anything, he’s not particularly turned on by the idea of putting someone’s teeth anywhere near his dick, let alone while they are inhabiting a corpse, but Ichigo doesn’t seem to care about that because he follows the whole movement with his eyes and his lips part just enough for him to sweep his tongue across his lips. 

“Funny,” he rumbles deep in his chest, “that was exactly what I was suggestin’,” his hand finds Ichigo’s neck again and he rubs his thumb in the little divot between his clavicles, before running it up just to see and feel Ichigo swallow. “You gettin’ wet for me Ichigo? You suggestin’ this king should get balls deep in a queen?”

Ichigo slams his eyes shut, thighs tensing slightly and knees pressing together under the blankets. This was such a bad idea. Terrible. He can't keep his stupid mouth shut, and now Grimmjow's hand is on his throat, fingers so delicate, and he desperately wants a little bit of pressure, just enough to make breathing a chore, make him squirm and gasp. 

"No," he mumbles, you know, like a liar, "not what I'm suggesting. Not wet." Denial, denial, denial. Pretend it's not true, maybe Grimmjow will get bored of the teasing, he's not going to carry through, don't bother embarrassing yourself by admitting you want him inside you, and go away, give up on the game. 

Grimmjow chuckles that rough and husky sound that always succeeds in getting people to pay attention to him, and flutters his fingers, squeezing down lightly before releasing. He hooks fingers into the edge of the bedspread, “You might be right. My nose has been real…” he pauses as if searching for the right word, “unreliable tonight. You won’t mind if I check then, will you?” 

He peels the edge of the covers back, his weight shifting and ‘inadvertently’ places himself right at Ichigo’s lips for the barest of seconds before the blanket is no longer trapped under him and he is free to climb down Ichigo’s body and pull the blanket off as he goes. 

Ichigo jerks his head backwards, eyes wide again when Grimmjow comes too close not close enough for the briefest moment, and his hands flick out, grab at the edges of the blanket as it pulls down closer to his waist, heart beating rabbit-quick in his chest.  
You fucking bastard, he thinks, sits up a little. 

"You don't need to check-" He scowls, but the effect is distorted by his wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and he tries to tug the blanket up again. Averts his gaze, he just can't keep eye contact. Shit. Fuck. He presses his thighs a little closer together in some futile effort to trample his own arousal. It doesn't work, and the little bit of pressure Grimmjow gifted him with before sitting up was- 

He swallows around the lump in his throat. 

Grimmjow smirks at him, the heated look in his eye fading to one of smug amusement. “Thought so.” He releases the blanket and slips off of Ichigo to reclaim his spot on the windowsill and prepares to settle in for the night. 

Ichigo takes a deep breath and then yanks the blanket all the way back up with a firm scowl- this time it's much more genuine, _I knew it, told you so_ running through his head. 

"You're such an asshole." He grumbles, then tucks his face into the blankets as well so he doesn't have to look at Grimmjow, all stupidly handsome and framed by the moonlight. 

Ichigo’s rough treatment of the blanket flicks all sorts of scents into the air and Grimmjow can’t help but make a show of breathing in deeply, he purrs soft and satisfied for a moment. Of course, the blanket still smells bad but Ichigo smells like something Grimmjow wants to eat. 

Ichigo has to resist the urge to slide a hand down and grind against his own palm, but it fortunately doesn't take long for his exhaustion to override the quick-spark of arousal the stupid bastard fucking dumbass idiot cat hollow caused to pool in his veins. It gets easier to keep his eyes closed despite the foreign presence in his room, and eventually he's halfway asleep and getting closer to true unconsciousness with every slow breath. 

Grimmjow is comfortable with holding the vigil tonight. Sleep isn’t something he needs but he almost considers faking it to see if Ichigo will shove his hand down his pants when he thinks Grimmjow won’t notice. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. He sits, eyes cast outward into the sky. The human world has so much more light then Hueco Mundo, there are more stars in the sky than Grimmjow could have dreamed of. It’s a peaceful sight.

The moment the boy goes quiet, unconscious enough that he’s barely even breathing, Grimmjow can’t help but reach over and press two fingers against his pulse point, just to confirm that the body was still, somehow working. After coming to Kurosaki’s den and finding him dead and feeling the horror, misery, and distress that crawled up his throat at the sight… He just wants to make sure. 

Ichigo huffs in his sleep, squirms down to escape cold fingers on his skin and settles immediately back into the comfort of his blankets, the bare edges of dreams flickering to life behind his eyes. The brief moment of wakefulness is just that, brief, and he's gone again, every muscle in his body lax and without tension. 

Grimmjow proceeds to check for a heartbeat every hour or so, he’s not good with time, but whenever his gaze drifts from the stars and the streets back to Ichigo he checks. Ichigo doesn’t seem to mind him putting his hands on his neck. He really should. 

The thought makes him chuckle a little. As stupidly powerful as Ichigo is, the brat has the self preservation instincts of a slug. 

He drifts off himself sometime just as the sun starts to creep over the horizon.

* * *

Ichigo snaps directly from deep unconsciousness to entirely awake at the sound of his father’s impending footsteps, and he throws himself up and around quickly even as his door slams open and a heel kick impacts the pillow where his head rested a mere second before. He snarls, low, a human sound, and promptly drops bonelessly backwards when his father spins and lashes out, his fist rushing over Ichigo’s face; and he springs back into a standing position on the mattress quickly, fists raised defensively.

“GOOD MORNIIIIINNNNGGGG ICHIGOOOOOOOO!”

It’s a sound from all of his nightmares, really. His father is the incarnation of cruel awakenings. He ducks another blow and lashes out, catches the older man in the ribs, hard, and he goes down like a sack of potatoes- Ichigo makes sure to step on him on his way down from the bed. It pulls a satisfying oof from his shitty dad’s chest and he makes his way to his closet- still open from last night, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. 

“Fuck off,” he states, too tired to even put inflection into the words, going by rote instead- “shitty goat-face.”

Grimmjow snaps awake from his light doze with Pantera already unsheathed and half a bala in hand, Ichigo gets the intruder first and Grimmjow relaxes reflexively, before blinking and returning fully to wakefulness.

The brat’s sire hits the hardwood with a grunt and Ichigo - still alive, didn’t rot out of his body in the few minutes Grimmjow slept through - clambers over him with an exhausted stomp right on the mans chest and Grimmjow chuckles at the sight. 

He nods to himself, vigil over, and twists to crack his back. A long string of pops draw a satisfied grunt from him and he resheathes Pantera. He should go. 

Ichigo turns, a little stunned, his binder dangling from one hand as he squints at the window. Isshin is rolling on the floor, making dramatic noises of pain, interspersed with the odd ‘oohhhhhh my son doesn’t love meeeeee’ whines of overhyped emotional agony.  
Ichigo ignores him with the ease of long practiced suffering.

“Why are you still here?” It’s more shocked than accusatory, he didn’t even notice Grimmjow, too laser focused on his incoming parental unit. His tired brain tries to find a reason, can’t latch onto anything that makes sense.

Grimmjow glances over his shoulder at Ichigo’s question, confirming that yes, it was directed at him. “I’m leaving.” He says instead of answering, suspicious eyes flickering to the whinging man on the floor who either couldn’t see the Espada in his son’s room or was strong enough not to care. 

Ichigo narrows his eyes, and absently kicks his father in the shin, eliciting an awfully high pitched squeak from him, which- ugh. Why are you like this, he thinks, absently. Directs a brief glare to him, then switches his gaze back to Grimmjow. 

“Alright. Try not to linger weirdly in my window while I’m sleeping again, will you? No wonder I had weird fucking dreams.” He shakes his head and turns away, pulls his arms through the sleeves of his blue shirt and yanks it up over his head. There’s a brief struggle with his binder, and his hair is probably a mess when he finally gets it on properly.

Bizarre hollow. He really doesn’t understand Grimmjow at all.

“Something’s gonna eat you in your sleep one day,” Grimmjow tells him snidely with a rude gesture flicked over his shoulder in retaliation. The brat shoulda been more grateful he even bothered to make sure he stayed alive through the night. He doesn’t do that for everyone. For anyone, actually. His fraccion on occasion but more so he could eat them if they carked it, not so much to bother trying his hand at keeping them alive. 

Fucking ridiculous, he scoffs and shakes his head in derision before stepping into a sonido.

Ichigo opens his mouth to call something out after him- probably something rude, honestly, but Grimmjow is already gone. 

He shifts his gaze back to goat-face. 

Eurgh. 

He steps on his dad again on the way out of his room, pulling a shirt on over his binder as he heads downstairs for breakfast.


End file.
